


The Proof's in the Way It Hurts

by blueandbrady



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Angst, Homophobia, Hopeful Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2270109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueandbrady/pseuds/blueandbrady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry goes to boarding school, and Nick owns a bookshop. They're not supposed to fall in love, but it happens anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proof's in the Way It Hurts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fiddleyoumust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleyoumust/gifts).



> Many thanks to @agirlnamedfia for the beta and Nicola for the Britpick. You two are amazing. I also appreciate all of you who listened to me whine while I wrote it, especially @allfleshisgrass who got it the worst. 
> 
> This is for the lovely @fiddleyoumust. Thank you for the prompt. I hope you like it :) Sorry it's not the 1940s, but it's barely the 50s either.

Harry thinks Zayn is going to get his book collection confiscated again if he buys any of the last three he's picked up. He doesn't say that, though, because he knows Zayn doesn't care.

"You might like this one," Zayn says, handing Harry a book off the same shelf. "Like, the plot's a bit slow in the beginning but it picks up and the protagonist is great."

"Hmm," Harry says, and flips to the back to read the blurb written there. Definitely going to be confiscated.

Zayn goes back to the bookshelf, done with human interaction for at least another five minutes. Harry feels eyes on him and turns, catches the guy behind the counter staring at him. He looks away when Harry smiles.

Harry opens the book and reads the first page to see if the detention later will be worth it. Probably not. He hands it back to Zayn and looks around the shop.

It's a nice bookshop, a bit on the small side and cluttered but welcoming, reminiscent of someone's home. There are big, soft-looking sofas in the back and records of musicians Harry's never heard of on the walls. The only one Harry thinks he might recognize is Elvis Presley, but maybe he’s just heard the name before. He doesn’t really have the time to keep up with new music.

A few moments later he gets the feeling he's being watched again and turns slowly, just enough to see the guy behind the counter out of the corner of his eye. He's tall and thin, dressed in a grey waistcoat and dark shirt underneath, and his hair is huge, styled up in the front like Zayn's when Perrie from the girls’ academy meets him in town on the weekends. It suits him.

Harry's stomach twists and he reaches for the nearest book.

"You won't read that," Zayn says, plucking it from his hands. "I've got all I want right now. You ready?"

Harry nods and follows him up to the counter. When they get close enough, Harry sees a nametag: “Nick.”

"Hiya!" Nick says, taking the books from Zayn. "Find everything alright?"

"Yeah, thanks, man," says Zayn.

"And you?"

Harry tears his eyes away from the counter. Up close his hair looks even taller, and his hand is bigger than the book in it. Harry nods. "Yes, thank you." Nick's mouth, when he smiles, is wide and disarming.

As they’re leaving, Zayn mentions getting a comic to round out the contraband. It’s so Zayn that Harry laughs and follows him down the street, forgetting about the knot in the bottom of his stomach for a moment.

*

Harry spends the next week working on a biology lab. It’s one of his best subjects, but he can’t seem to focus and ends up writing the same paragraph twice, only in slightly different words.

“You going into town this weekend?” Louis asks.

“Maybe,” Harry says.

“Perrie’s bringing Eleanor,” says Louis. He holds up a blue dress shirt, then a green one. “Which one do you think she’ll like more?”

“Blue.”

Louis carefully hangs the blue one back up in their wardrobe. “Sophia might be coming, too, but don’t tell Liam.”

Harry scribbles out “cell wall” and replaces it with “cell _membrane_.” “‘Kay.”

“Niall says he’s really going to make it official with Ellie this time if she’s there.”

“Good for him.”

Louis sighs, coming up behind Harry. “Harold,” he says, dropping his hands to Harry’s shoulders, squeezing. “Are you sure you don’t want me to set you up with someone? I think Paige is single.”

Harry shakes his head. “Can’t. Busy.”

“We’re all busy,” says Louis.

“No.”

“Fine,” Louis says, rubbing Harry’s shoulders again. “But let me know if you change your mind.”

*

The bookshop is still there when Harry goes back a week later. He wasn’t going to, but then he accidentally got one of the books Zayn bought confiscated by reading it in the common room, so he has to replace it. Zayn hasn’t properly spoken to him in three days.

The shop is empty of customers when Harry steps inside but Nick’s there, sitting behind the counter, writing in a notebook. The grey waistcoat of last week has been swapped out for a navy blue one but his hair is still the same, and he looks up when he hears the bell. This time Harry’s expecting it when his stomach tries to twist in on itself.

"Hiya, again," Nick says, closing the notebook. “Back so soon, I see. Has the call of the written word brought you back to my land where the fictitious universes are vast and plenty?”

"Uh." Harry smiles, confused.

Nick laughs. "How can I help you?"

“I need a book? For my mate, he, well _I_ \--”

“Ah,” Nick says, and stands, coming around the counter. Harry follows him across the shop. “He likes the ones over here.”

Harry looks to where Nick is pointing and sighs in relief when he sees the book he came for. Zayn won’t hate him forever now. He might even speak to him sometime this week. “Oh, thank goodness,” he says, taking it off the shelf.

“He just bought that one last week," Nick says.

"Yeah," says Harry, flipping through the pages, "I kind of got it confiscated."

“Good going, that.”

"I know," Harry says, feeling dumb. "I should know better. I'm not a first year."

“That’s all right,” Nick says. “Happened to me, too. All the time.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry asks, following Nick to the register. “You went to boarding school too?”

“Once upon a time,” Nick says, ringing up the book. “Many, many years ago.”

“It can’t have been that long ago,” says Harry while digging out his money.

Nick counts out Harry’s change. “Long enough,” he says. “I’m ancient, if you haven’t noticed. Wrinkles around my eyes, saggy skin. Going to crumble into dust and ash any moment, just you watch.”

Harry laughs. “Sure.”

“You laugh now,” Nick says, “but you won’t always have that youthful glow. My advice, whatever your name is, is to moisturize. Never too young.”

Harry’s cheeks start to hurt from smiling. “It’s Harry,” he says, “and I’ll remember that.”

“Good,” Nick says, handing over the book, receipt tucked inside. “Have a nice day, Harry.”

“You, too.”

*

Harry stays at school the rest of the week, soothing Louis’ broken heart. 

“Did she _say_ she wanted to break up?” asks Harry.

“Yes,” says Louis around a mouthful of chocolate bar.

Zayn looks up from his comic long enough to stretch his leg across the sofa and kick Louis in the shin. “She did not.”

Louis stops gnawing on the candy bar to say, “She _said_ she didn’t see us getting married when I finish here, so it’s basically the same thing.”

“She wants to go to uni first,” says Niall, "and so do you, so stop your bitching and moaning.”

“What if she meets someone she likes more there?”

“I think Sophia applied to the same one El did,” says Liam.

Louis tips his head onto Harry’s shoulder and offers him the half-eaten, slobbered-on chocolate bar. “Maybe you have the right idea not getting involved with anyone,” he says. “No girl problems for you.”

*

“Those sofas," Harry says, first thing the next week, "are they just for decoration or can I sit back there?”

“You can sit on them,” Nick says.

“Thanks,” Harry says, and does just that.

Nick appears a few minutes later. “Can I help you with anything?” he asks, looking confusedly at the notes Harry’s already spread across the other cushions. “Get you a book, perhaps?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m alright, thanks.”

“Well,” Nick says, and runs his fingers through his hair, twisting it up and back. “If you need anything, you know where I am.”

“Sure do.”

*

It's not the best place to do work because Harry's sure Nick's never learned how to be quiet in his life but nevertheless, Harry keeps coming back.

“I made tea,” Nick says a few days later, setting a cup down on the table in front of Harry. “I’m more of a coffee drinker myself, but I’ve discovered I am in the minority with that.”

“I like tea,” Harry says.

“Good.” Nick hovers next to the sofa. “Well. Have fun with your assignments.”

*

Nick's rotating the displays the following week but slows down every time he passes by Harry, making a face at whatever Harry’s working on at the moment. For the past hour he's been taking notes from his psychology textbook.

“Boring,” Nick declares when Harry switches to history, and flips the book closed on his way through.

Harry laughs and opens it back up, hoping Nick’ll walk by and do it again.

*

The week after, Nick's hair is a mess and he keeps tugging on it, making it worse.

Nick hangs up the phone only for it to start ringing moments later and he groans. “Ugh,” he says, Harry assumes, to him and not the phone, “I hate the beginning of the month. Have I ever said that? Because I do."

*

"Are you hiding from someone?" Nick asks on a Wednesday, three weeks in.

Harry's full-on lying on the sofa, trying to read a poem for English and not watch Nick walk around the shop. He frowns. "Right now?"

Nick shrugs. "Whenever."

"Erm, no?"

"Are you being bullied?"

"No," Harry says again.

Nick straightens a stack of books. "Do you not have any friends in that academic prison then? What about that one with the hair like mine?"

Harry laughs. Nick is so funny. "I have friends," he says.

"Hmm," Nick says, and walks off.

*

Harry puts his notebook down and rubs his temples. He can't _think_ today with all the noise that is probably supposed to be music.

Nick's not behind the counter so Harry gets up and wanders around, looking for where he could possibly be. He finds him in the office in the back. There are posters for _The Creature from the Black Lagoon_ and _Rear Window_ on the wall and Harry shakes his head. He can’t imagine Nick being quiet long enough to sit through an entire film.

“What _is_ this?” Harry asks, making a face at the record player. Nick's sorting through a massive stack of records and jumps when he sees Harry.

“ _This_ is the music of the malcontent, Harold," he says, motioning Harry in. "It’s supposed to sound rough around the edges. Polished doesn’t speak to your soul and heal your wounds.”

Harry laughs. “Sounds like yelling while banging on a bin.”

"You sound like yelling while banging on a bin," Nick retorts.

"That doesn't even make any sense."

Nick gives him a look like he's judging him deeply, and Harry can't help but smile.

"Sit down," Nick says, pointing to a sofa in the corner. "Apparently you aren't getting a proper education at that school of yours." He hands Harry a stack of records. "Sort through these and tell me if you know any of them."

"Okay."

"Do you know Chuck Berry? He’s American."

Harry shakes his head.

Nick sighs. “This may take a while.”

*

Harry has to leave early a couple of days later because Louis has been asking where he's been.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" Nick asks, following him to the door.

Harry nods. "Is that okay? If you have plans --"

"No plans," Nick says. He reaches for the door the same time Harry does. Their hands bump. Nick jerks his back. "Sorry."

Harry's hand tingles. "It's okay. See you tomorrow."

*

Nick's nowhere to be seen when Harry lets himself into the shop. "Hello?"

"Back here!" Nick calls, and Harry follows his voice.

Nick's digging through one of the many overflowing filing cabinets in the back office, the sleeves of his dress shirt unbuttoned and rolled up his arms. Harry watches the muscles in his forearms flex, feels the back of his neck heat up. "Hi."

When Nick turns around, his hair is drooping across his forehead but he smiles at Harry. Harry can't help but smile back. "Hiya. Doing inventory this weekend if I could find, you know, the checklist."

"Would it be in the drawer marked 'inventory?'" Harry asks, pointing to Nick's left.

Nick opens the drawer and groans. "Not one word, Harold."

"It's just Harry, actually."

Nick brandishes the papers at him like a sword. "What did I just say?"

Harry chews on his lip to not smile so widely. Nick’s just really funny, is all.

They go back out into the shop. Nick locates another stool and sits it beside his own behind the counter. “Wanna sit up here today?” he asks.

Harry nods, already taking out his book. He spreads his homework out on the counter, careful to keep out of Nick's way. When Nick realizes what he's doing, he laughs. "Just shove my crap to the floor. It's what? Receipts? Who cares!"

"Your accountant, probably," Harry says, grinning, already moving the stacks of paper over a few inches. 

Nick flaps a hand in front of Harry's face. "Bah."

Harry spends the next hour reading and drawing little diagrams in his notebook. It's warm inside the shop, and the dry air makes Harry cough. Nick looks up. "Alright?" he asks.

Harry nods, wetting his lips. "Do you have any water?" he asks, and thinks he imagines the look on Nick’s face. Harry licks his lips again and -- yeah, Nick's eyes drop down, tracking the movement. Harry's breath catches, then he coughs again.

Nick blinks rapidly like there's something in his eye. "Water," he says, sliding off the stool. "Right, one moment."

Harry spends the rest of the afternoon feeling like his chest is too small for everything inside it. 

*

The next day Nick’s too busy to sit and chat, running from one end of the shop to the other, arms always full. Harry pretends he’s not disappointed.

*

"Do you," Harry says to Louis, "sometimes get fixated on something and can't let go? Even though you know you should?"

Louis is on the floor in their dorm room. He's been methodically folding back the pages of his history textbook for fifteen minutes but looks up at the sound of Harry's voice. "Yeah," he says. "Like the banana prank."

Harry bites back a sigh. "I guess. But you went through with that in the end."

Louis nods. "Sometimes you don't have a choice," he says. "You either give in or you go mad."

Harry frowns, pretending to write something down in his notebook. Louis goes back to folding the pages.

That's -- Yeah.

*

It's raining and Harry is soaked. His hair is dripping water into his eyes and he can’t stop shivering. It's also Monday and it feels like the shop's been closed for longer than two days.

“Harry!” Nick yells the moment Harry steps through the door. It’s nice and warm inside and Harry feels better immediately. “My floors!” Nick squawks. Harry can hear his footsteps. “You’re getting the carpet all wet. Don’t move!”

Harry shoves his hair out of his face. It sticks up in clumps.

Nick comes back a moment later with a towel and flings it over Harry's head, rubbing it roughly through his hair. Harry grabs onto Nick for support.

Nick's not gentle as he drags the towel down Harry's chest and over his arms before wrapping it around his shoulders. When he's apparently dry enough, Nick brings him further into the shop. "If you catch a cold, I'm going to be upset. What are you doing out in this anyway?"

Harry swallows, not feeling as brave as he did an hour ago. Or even all weekend. "Needed to see you," he says.

"Me?" Nick sits Harry down on a stool and pulls his own up in front of him, tightens the towel around Harry's shoulders. "What for?"

"Because." Harry breathes out, shaky, and meets Nick's eyes. They’re wide and curious, running over Harry’s face, and they crinkle at the corner when he smiles. Harry feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Harry?”

“I.” Harry holds his breath as he starts to lean in, heart pounding. He keeps his movements slow in case he’s all wrong about this and Nick wants to shove him away. Nick's eyes seem to widen even more, eyebrows shooting up his forehead the moment he realizes. Harry's hand starts to shake on the counter just before Nick finally closes the distance and kisses him.

It’s gentle. Nick’s mouth is a light pressure over Harry’s, and Harry cups Nick’s face with the hand he’s not using for support on the counter. He thumbs over the stubble on Nick’s chin and feels him shiver.

"Oh," Nick says -- breathes, really -- against Harry's mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry whispers. Then, “Is this okay?”

“No,” Nick says, equally quiet and a little pained, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist when he starts to pull away, “but don’t stop.”

*

Louis is starfished across Harry's bed when Harry lets himself into their room later that night.

"Harold, where have you been? You're never here anymore," he whines. "It's nearly 10 p.m." He shoves his face into Harry's pillow and mumbles, "I miss your curls and your smell."

Harry rolls his eyes and hesitates at the side of his bed. Usually he'd slide in right beside Louis, but he's still a bit worked up and is certain Louis will be able to tell.

"Revising," Harry says, "then I ate at the cafe since I missed dinner."

"Niall can get you food after hours," says Louis.

“Ah, yeah. I'll remember that."

"Good," Louis says, rolling back over. He blinks up at Harry. "Now get in and give us a cuddle. I'm tired."

Harry rubs his sweaty palms on his trousers and glances at the door. "Was thinking I'd grab a shower first, actually."

Louis groans. "Fine, but no promises that I'll still be awake."

"Okay. I'll be quiet, then."

"Just be quick," Louis says, and tugs the blanket up to his chin.

*

The bell above the door dings loudly in the quiet evening and Harry stands in the center of the shop for three long minutes. It's nearly closing time so Nick should be out here, and it makes Harry even less sure of his decision to come back. What if Nick’s changed his mind and regrets letting Harry kiss him, regrets kissing him back? What if he’s decided Harry’s not actually worth the risk after all? He would understand. It’s pretty stupid of them both. He should never have --

“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” Nick says, coming out of the back room and interrupting Harry’s thoughts. He’s in a jumper and loose trousers, and his hair is flat. Harry still wants to kiss him.

“Had to stay through dinner,” says Harry.

“Ah.”

Harry shifts his weight from his left foot to his right, sighs. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to leave?”

He shakes his head immediately, curls flying everywhere. “No,” he says. “I want to be here.”

“Well,” Nick says, and tugs on his jumper. It’s one of those kinds that spreads lint everywhere and Harry wants to press himself against it.

It's been a long time since Harry's felt this way. He'd liked all of his girlfriends; they were lovely and he wishes them all the best, but they never made him feel like this, like he could fly apart at the edges.

It’s not clear who moves first. A moment later Harry is fisting his hands in the front of Nick’s jumper and kissing him, lips hard and unforgiving on Nick’s like he might not get to do this again. Nick makes a noise and cups the side of Harry’s face, slowing it back down.

“Nick,” Harry gasps, pressing himself closer.

“Not here,” Nick says, and Harry remembers they’re still standing in the middle of the open shop.

“In the back?”

Nick nods.

The office is even smaller with the door closed and Nick crowds him against it, kissing him again, giving him the kind of kiss Harry was trying for a minute ago. His mouth is firm against Harry's, and sure, so sure of what it's doing. Harry shakes and tries to keep up.

One of Nick's hands finds its way to Harry's hair and the other curls around his hip, thumb making itself at home in the small dip there. 

"You can’t tell anyone about this," Nick says. His fingertips dig into the meat at Harry's waist.

"I won't," Harry says.

Nick eases back some of the pressure and Harry whines, tipping his head back to look at him. "I mean it," he says. "Promise me."

“I promise,” Harry says. His stomach rolls at the mere _thought_ of anyone finding out. “I get it; I really do. I’m set to finish school in a few months. I can’t get -- I _understand_.”

*

Niall finally asks Ellie to be his girlfriend and she says yes. It's all anyone can talk about but the conversations keep coming back to Harry, asking when he's going to settle down. He’s getting better at brushing them off while ignoring the twisting in his stomach.

*

It's been two weeks and Harry's stomach still flutters when Nick turns off the shop lights and counts down the till, starting the closing-up process.

After he locks the front door, he goes around the room, closing the curtains on each window, one by one. The shop's in total darkness by the time Nick joins him on the sofa.

"Hi," he says, taking Harry's hand in his. He rubs his thumb over Harry's knuckles, slowly, side to side, and doesn't ask for more. He never does.

Harry bites his lip and slides closer. Nick's face is different like this, soft and open, and Harry stares at him for as long as he can until Nick looks down, mumbling something about taking a picture that makes Harry laugh and want to kiss him; so he does, cupping Nick's jaw gently just in case Nick decides this is the time he doesn't want to anymore. He makes a soft noise against Harry’s mouth and Harry takes that as a cue to press closer, rest his hand flat against Nick's chest and kiss him harder, lips parting.

Nick's mouth is soft and plush, and his tongue tastes faintly of coffee and cigarettes as it pushes bluntly back against Harry's, not leading but not exactly being passive either, and Harry squirms, feeling himself getting hard over it. He spreads his legs, pushes up onto his knees and turns, throwing one across Nick's. He's close but not close enough that Nick can feel, and that's – that's better. Nick holds onto his hips and doesn't let go until Harry needs to leave.

*

Harry forgets that Nick is an actual person who exists outside of the bookshop, so he’s caught off guard when he sees him at the ice cream parlor over the weekend. He's in jeans and a T-shirt, no waistcoat or dress shirt in sight. Harry thinks he’s imagining him for a second.

Nick freezes rather obviously for a moment and Harry can’t look away. 

It's not until Louis elbows him in the side that he remembers he isn't alone. “Think he’s fit or something?” He's smirking. 

Harry's not sure what his face does, but it's probably not doing him any favors. Luckily he's saved by Liam gasping, “Louis!”

“What?” Louis turns to Liam, frowning. “I was kidding.”

Liam shakes his head. “Don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“Whatever,” Louis says, and goes back to discussing the footie game he played with Niall last week.

Harry hunches his shoulders, focuses on his mostly melted cone and does not turn around to catch another glimpse of Nick. 

*

Louis' comment is still playing in Harry's head on Monday, so he doesn't go back to the shop. It's faded somewhat by Tuesday and on Wednesday, to the point where Harry can almost convince himself it never happened. 

Nick doesn't look happy to see him on Thursday and Harry's heart drops. 

"Hi," he says carefully, pausing at the counter. 

"Hello," says Nick, eyes on a form he's filling out. 

Harry frowns. "I'm sorry I haven't been by. I've just." He sighs. "Louis said something at the ice cream --"

"I heard him," says Nick. 

"Oh."

"I get it," Nick says. He looks sad, but not cross. "It's okay if you don't want -- it's okay."

"No," Harry says quickly, "I do. I definitely do."

It's a long moment that hangs heavy in the air before Nick speaks again. "Okay," he says finally. "But tell me next time. Don't just -- don't just stop coming." 

Harry nods. "I promise." He rocks forward but stops himself at the last second with his hands on the counter. The curtains are pulled back and the shop is open. It's the middle of the day. 

Nick ducks his head, but Harry can see the smile there. "Later," he says, and finishes filling in the form. 

*

It’s dark, none of the lights are on and the blinds are drawn over the one window in the office. A few stray rays from the lamplight peak in through the slits, casting shadows across Nick’s face when Harry pulls back long enough to take a breath. Nick’s breathing hard; Harry can feel his chest rising and falling unsteadily under his hands.

There's really nowhere else Harry would rather be than right here. He's got a leg on either side of Nick's, knees sinking into the soft cushions, and Nick's hands are a steady anchor around his waist. He keeps tugging on Nick's bottom lip with his teeth until Nick whimpers and grips Harry tighter.

"Hot," Harry says, leaning back on Nick's legs. He curls his fingers around the hem of his jumper. "Can I?"

Nick nods, swallowing thickly. He holds Harry steady as he pulls it off and tosses it to the floor.

Harry feels a light chill without his jumper but it's Nick's hands that make Harry shiver, palms spread flat and wide on his chest, touching, feeling. Harry tries to breathe slowly and steadily.

"Lean back," Nick says, and Harry does, resting his hands behind himself on Nick's knees. His legs strain in the position and pull the material of his trousers tight across his thighs, making it obvious how hard he is. There's no hiding it, like it's the elephant in the room and Harry feels on display because of it.

Nick's fingers brush Harry's stomach just above his waistband and Harry's breath catches, heart feeling like it's going to beat out of his chest, and when Nick touches the smooth leather of the belt, fingertips following the engraved lettering of the logo, Harry’s breath stutters and he drops his head back. He’s so hard, harder than he thinks he’s ever been before.

Nick's palm brushes against his cock, and even through the layers of thick denim, Harry feels it like sparks under his skin and moans, unable to choke it back.

"C'mere," Nick says and Harry curls forward, finding Nick's mouth right away, licking deep inside while Nick's hand stays between them, the backs of his knuckles running up and down Harry's fly. Harry whines, kisses him harder.

As if that were just the encouragement Nick was waiting for, he deftly undoes Harry's belt, then pops the button and lowers the zip. Nick rubs him through his pants gently and Harry rocks his hips into it, breathing heavily into Nick's mouth, nipping at his lips. Nick makes a small, hurt-sounding noise and dips his hand into Harry's pants, drawing him free. His hand is huge and he strokes Harry carefully, but not hesitantly.

Harry moans, digs his fingers into Nick's shoulders and breathes out against his cheek, swollen lips catching on the coarse stubble.

"Nick," Harry whispers, clinging tighter as Nick jerks him. Nick turns his head, lining their mouths up again.

Harry shakes all the way through. Nick's rougher than Harry usually is and it feels amazing, like he can feel every nerve in his body and Nick's in control of all of them.

"God," Nick says, barely a breath, "you are --" He runs his other hand up Harry's thigh. "You are something else," he says, pulling at Harry harder. His shoulder shakes under Harry's hand.

"You," Harry says nonsensically and returns the pressure of Nick's lips, unable to do much more. He's so close, can feel it building in the pit of his stomach. The rush of blood is loud in his ears and his stomach clenches.

Nick twists his wrist, grip tight, and Harry comes with a sharp cry. Nick keeps stroking him until it turns sharp and too much, then he eases off, gentling his kiss as well. Harry makes an embarrassingly needy noise, grabbing Nick to bring him back in.

"You good?" Nick murmurs a few moments later. His fingers are petting Harry's sweaty hair and Harry hums, not willing to give up Nick's mouth just yet. He needs a moment to process. 

When Harry pulls back, Nick's watching him carefully, eyes lidded. He touches Harry's face, drags a finger down his cheek. 

"I'm good," Harry says, feeling his heart rate return to normal. 

*

"Helloooo," Louis says, "Earth to Harry."

Harry blinks, jerking away from the hand Louis is waving in his face. "Huh?"

Louis groans. "Where have you _been_?" He pokes Harry in the cheek. “You’ve been smiling like this and staring off into space for the past half hour.”

"I’ve been right here!" he says, batting Louis' hand away, vividly aware of the smile he's wearing now. He tries to temper it, but it sticks stubbornly, stretching his mouth out wide across his face.

Zayn, who Harry thought was up in his room, laughs next to him on the sofa, startling him. "You were not 'right here' just now, mate," he says without lifting his head from the comic.

"I'm sorry," Harry lies. He glances at the clock above the door of the common room. If he goes to bed at nine that means Monday will get here faster. Monday getting here faster means –

"Stop smiling like that!" Louis yells, earning some strange looks from the other people in the room.

Harry looks to Zayn for backup but only gets a raised eyebrow in return.

"Do you have a secret girlfriend?" Louis asks loudly and Harry's stomach clenches up, smile cracking just the littlest bit.

"No," Harry says slowly.

Louis tilts his head, studying him. Harry holds still. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Harry says, just as slowly as before.

"Hmm," Louis says, and stomps off. 

*

Nick fits differently in Harry’s hand, feels thicker when he curls his fingers and rubs his thumb around the head, down the vein along the shaft. It makes Nick's breath stutter and his fingers dig into the stubborn babyfat still clinging to Harry's hips. 

The sofa creaks when Harry turns onto his hip, pressing close to Nick’s side. “Is this okay?” Harry asks. 

It's not until after Nick's groaning and pulling Harry back into another filthy kiss that Harry remembers this is the first cock he's touched that isn't his and it's fine. The world isn't ending. It's perfect, and exactly what he wants.

*

Louis is not as good at sneaking in after hours as Harry is, so they all hear him coming from downstairs. Harry steps out of the room to see Zayn, Liam, and Niall already there, leaning against their doors. 

“Hello, boys,” Louis says, smiling so big his eyes are thin slits. 

“Where have you been?” Liam demands. 

Louis surges forward, getting Liam and Zayn in a hug, arms flailing wildly for Harry and Niall to join. Once they’re all sufficiently wrapped around Louis, Louis sighs. “I love Eleanor so much, lads. I don’t even care if she doesn’t want to marry me.” 

“Is that where you’ve been, then?” Zayn asks. 

“Yes,” Louis mumbles, face pressed into Liam’s shoulder. “I am officially not the last one to be hooking up.” 

“Good for you,” Niall says, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Now you’ll stop whinging about it.”

Zayn grins, pulling Louis into a hug of his own, and whispers in his ear, “You can tell me all about it in the morning.” 

Instead of rolling his eyes like he normally would, Harry is left a bit off-kilter as he follows Louis into their room. It’s not that he particularly _wants_ to tell them the private things he does with Nick, but. He’d kind of like that option, to get that same pat on the back and congratulations for joining their stupid club. He’s probably done as much as any of them have, except for maybe Zayn, but the difference is he can’t tell anyone. 

*

“What are you laughing at?” Harry asks.

Nick smiles, still staring down at a small, rectangle piece of paper. “A baby and a bottle of vodka,” he says, turning it toward Harry. “Gillian sent it to me from London.”

Harry shakes his head at the postcard. It is indeed a baby curled around a bottle of vodka. “London sounds like a strange place.”

Nick laughs. “So strange,” he says, setting the card on the table. “Anyway, time to close up and I’m starving. Absolutely dying. I usually wait until you leave, but, um.” Nick makes a face that Harry suspects is intended more for himself than Harry. “Do you want to come up? To my flat, I mean. It’s nothing much, but I can cook us something. Kind of. I can make pasta!”

Harry’s been wondering if he would ever get to see the place Nick disappears to at night and nods. “I’d like that.” He’s been living off small plates of leftovers one of the cooks leaves for him in the fridge.

“Wonderful!” He stands up, reaching behind the sofa to close the curtains. “You can go on up if you like. It might be a mess, though. I mean, it probably is.”

“That’s fine,” Harry says, already putting his books away. His hands are shaking and he’s not sure why. They’re just going to have dinner. Upstairs. In Nick’s flat. Where there’s a bed. “Uh,” he says, standing, backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll just see you up there?”

“Mhm.”

There are only a dozen stairs and Harry stops as soon as he’s at the top of them. It's a nice flat. Small. There's a little section that's the kitchen and a door that is probably the bathroom and right in the middle of the main room, taking up most of the space, is a bed. The blankets are rumpled and Harry looks around for somewhere else to sit, but there isn't anywhere.

He swallows, dumps his bag at the foot, and then sits down. It’s soft and Nick still isn’t up there, so Harry lies down on it, stretching out. It smells like Nick. Harry takes a deep breath.

“Christ, you don’t make this easy, do you?” is the first thing Nick says, and Harry lifts his head to smile.

“Hi.”

Nick turns away, heading straight for the little kitchen area, and sets about boiling the water. Harry rolls onto his side and watches him.

He could fall asleep here. He could see himself lying right here beside Nick and then getting ready in the morning while Nick sleeps on, not needing to be up to open the shop before Harry leaves for school. In this fantasy he’s going to university somewhere and not back to the boarding school, and when he returns later in the night to this bed, no one cares.

“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?”

Harry shakes his head, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “Just thinking.”

“I’d ask about what, but I do want to eat and not have to come over there,” Nick says.

Harry shoves his face into Nick’s pillow and smiles.

Nick sings while he cooks. It’s probably the worst singing Harry has ever heard in his life and he loves it. He smiles harder when Nick hits a particularly bad note.

“Sorry we have to eat on the bed like heathens, but I refuse to buy a table and chairs when I could buy more records,” Nick says, bringing two plates over.

Harry doesn’t understand not having a table or chairs but he knows Nick’s feelings about music. “It’s okay.”

“Let’s hope this is too,” Nick says, twirling noodles around his fork. “I didn’t burn anything, which is usually how I know something’s done, so. Let’s find out, shall we?”

It’s fine. It’s not the best spaghetti but he’s sitting beside Nick on his bed, eating the food Nick's made for the both of them, so that's alright. Pretty perfect, actually. Harry could almost call this a date, if he were going to use that term. He’s not going to, though, obviously. Because they’ll never get one and it’s stupid to think about. 

Harry’s face must be doing a thing without his consent because a moment later, Nick’s asking, “Is it that bad? I thought it was alright, but maybe I’m just used to my terrible cooking.” 

“No, no,” Harry says quickly. “It’s great. Thank you.” 

Nick hmms, setting his plate down carefully on the floor. He takes Harry’s and does the same. “Alright,” he says, turning Harry’s face with a finger on his jaw. “What’s wrong?” 

Harry shakes his head. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re obviously not.” 

Harry sighs. “It’s stupid.” 

"Tell me about it anyway," Nick says. 

Harry doesn't really want to. It all seems so childish in his head; he can only imagine what it will sound like in actual words. 

"My mates think I have a secret girlfriend," he says, picking his words carefully. 

"Ah," Nick says, "and do you, um, want one?" 

"No," Harry says, "I just want to tell them about the secret _whatever_ I do have, but I can't. I can't tell anyone." He frowns and doesn't look at Nick's face. "I can't tell anyone anything. They talk about their girlfriends all the time and I have to just sit there quietly, pretending I have nothing to contribute and tell them I don't want to be set up. It just -- it --"

"Sucks," Nick finishes for him. 

Harry sighs. "Yeah. Sucks." 

Nick looks sad when Harry finally lifts his head and he looks away again. He's aware of how pathetic it all sounds. He has bigger things to worry about, like what he's going to do with the rest of his life and how long he can maintain a bachelor lifestyle before he has to settle down. 

"It doesn't," Nick starts, curling a hand around Harry's shoulder, pulling him to his chest, "It never really gets better, but you adjust. You find friends you can be yourself around, friends you don't have to lie to, and it's almost good enough." 

Harry turns in Nick's arms. "Your friends know?" 

Nick nods. "Some of them do. Gillian, Aimee, Pixie, Jack, Henry. Others." Nick kisses the side of Harry's face, pets back his hair. "You'll find someone your own age who can be with you properly, if not publically, and it won't always feel like this." 

Harry doesn't want to think about that. It all seems so far away and it apparently doesn't involve Nick, so Harry kisses him instead, runs his tongue over Nick's bottom lip until he opens up and Harry can lick inside. 

Nick groans and kisses him back, hands falling to Harry’s waist. Harry's mouth is hard and insistent, demanding, pushing for more even though he knows he should slow down and not take it out on Nick but he can’t stop, gasping into Nick’s mouth like he doesn’t have any other choice. Nick keeps kissing him back until he pushes up with his legs and tips them over, lying Harry out on his back, and pulls away.

"Where are you going?" Harry reaches out, trying to get him back. 

But Nick's already moving down Harry's body. "Lie still," he says, thumbs pressing down on Harry’s hips and Harry nods. He holds his breath as he watches Nick come to a stop just above his belt. Nick pushes up Harry's shirt and kisses his stomach, lays a series of light kisses on the smooth, soft skin there that make Harry's stomach tense and quiver. Then, lips still leaving kisses, he starts working Harry's belt out of its loops.

Harry feels overheated and shaky staring up at the ceiling while Nick holds the material of Harry’s zip back with his thumb and mouths at Harry's cock through his pants, gets the thin cotton wet with his tongue. His nose bumps along the shaft as he makes his way up, lips closing around the head before he even pulls the waistband back. His mouth is warm and soft inside and he swallows Harry down without hesitation. 

Harry's legs come up next to Nick's ears, and he grabs onto one of Nick’s hands to ground himself, unable to breathe through how good it feels. He doesn't recognize the noises he's making, high and needy to his own ears, and he feels a bit like he's falling through the air when he comes, suddenly, toes curling in the sheets.

Harry’s leg’s still twitching by the time Nick crawls back up to the head of the bed and kisses Harry’s cheek. “Feel better?” he asks. 

“Mm,” Harry breathes, and drags Nick into a kiss. He can taste himself on Nick’s tongue. 

*

Harry starts getting acceptance letters in the post early next week. They’re what he’s been waiting on all year, especially the one from London, but now -- now they sit like dead weight on top of his bureau, next to his coursework. 

It’s strange how quickly things can change. 

*

“Look at this, though,” Nick says, dangling another silly postcard in front of Harry’s face. There’s still a few hours before the shop is supposed to close, but Nick stopped doing any actual work an hour ago, choosing to sit beside Harry on the sofa instead.

Harry sighs. “I’m trying to revise here, Nicholas.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Nick says. He puts the postcard directly under Harry’s nose. “But I don’t know why when I’m right here.”

Harry bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, knowing it will only spur Nick on more. “Because I have an exam tomorrow, and it’s not on you.”

“Shame,” Nick says.

Harry couldn’t agree more. When he turns his head, Nick’s much closer than he was a minute ago and Harry aches to lean in and kiss him. He settles for knocking their noses together, which turns out to not be any better because a moment later, the bell above the door jingles and Zayn steps inside. Harry freezes.

Zayn looks directly at them, head tilted to the side like he isn’t sure what he’s seeing and Harry holds his breath. He and Nick aren’t doing anything. They're sitting unusually close, sure, but Harry can blame that on his loss of the concept of personal space, all because of Louis. Maybe he was showing Nick something in the textbook. It’s _fine_.

Harry’s about to open his mouth and say hello when Zayn veers to the right, disappearing down one of the aisles. Harry’s left with his heart pounding in his ears.

“I should.” Nick stands, and points toward the counter. Harry nods.

They weren’t doing anything, Harry keeps repeating to himself. He turns back to his textbook and underlines the first sentence he thinks might be important to know. His hand shakes and the line is a wobbly squiggle. 

It takes longer than Harry expects for Zayn to pick out a new book from the shelf, but eventually he makes his way up to the counter. Harry watches him and Nick exchange pleasantries, both smiling politely. He sounds fine. He’s acting fine. 

Maybe everything _is_ fine. 

A moment later Zayn is next to the sofas. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Harry nods.

“Looks comfy,” he says, looking around his shoulder at Nick, then back to Harry.

“It is.”

“Well.” Zayn coughs. “See you back at school.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, “see you.”

Once Zayn’s out the door, Harry feels like he can breathe again, like an anvil has been lifted off his chest. He sags back into the sofa. “You can come back,” he says without opening his eyes. Fuck, that was close. 

When Nick doesn’t say anything, Harry tries again. “Nick?”

There’s the sound of heavy books being dropped to the floor and then Nick says, “I think you should leave.” 

Harry frowns, opening his eyes. There’s a giant shipment box on the counter that Nick is emptying, one he probably should have been working on all day. “Oh,” he says. Nick’s never asked him to leave before. “Yeah, you’re right. Probably for the best. Sorry, I’ll be less distracted tomorrow.”

Nick shakes his head again and presses his palms flat on the counter. His lips are turned down around the edges. “No,” he says. Harry freezes, psychology book halfway inside the backpack. “No, I think.” The breath he draws in is shaky. “I think for good.”

“For good,” Harry repeats, flatly. A knot starts to form in the bottom of his stomach. “Why? I know that was close, but Zayn didn’t see any --”

“Harry, Zayn knows,” Nick says.

Harry blinks. “What? No, he doesn’t.”

Nick’s laugh is hollow, weak. “Yes, he does. He most certainly does.”

“Then why didn’t he say anything?”

Nick shrugs.

“I don’t think he does,” Harry whispers, because he can’t. Zayn can’t know. No one can.

“Go home, Harry,” Nick says.

Harry stares, not fully comprehending. “Just like that?” 

Nick’s face twists and he turns away. “It was fun while it lasted, yeah?”

Hot pressure prickles behind Harry’s eyes, so he finishes packing up as quickly as he can. “Yeah,” he says because it’s what Nick wants to hear. He’s not going to cause a scene and make Nick any more uncomfortable. “Bye.” 

*

Harry doesn’t fail all of his exams, but they’re not his best work by any stretch of the imagination. Good thing he’s already been accepted to university far, far away. 

*

"Hey," Louis says softly from just inside their door. It's been four days and Harry's only gotten out of bed for classes and the occasional meal. The lads are all tiptoeing around him. "Wanna play football with me and Niall? We'll let you win if you want."

"No," Harry says, and rubs his nose on his pillow.

Louis sighs, stepping further into the room. He doesn't know what's wrong -- as far as Harry knows, none of them do -- and it's obviously bothering him. Harry doesn’t know what Zayn’s waiting for.

"Want to sit by the radio later? Just me and you?"

"I don't like music."

"That's --" Louis is close enough to the bed now that Harry knows he's just staring down at him. Harry doesn't open his eyes. "I'll bring you some food up later. Feel better, okay?"

Harry rolls over.

*

Nick's an adult, a proper adult. He owns a business even.

"When did Winston Churchill become Prime Minister?" Mr. Cordon asks.

And Harry's just a kid. It wouldn't have worked anyway.

"May, nineteen forty," Jaymi says.

Never mind anything else.

*

"You haven't been to the bookshop in a while," Zayn says.

Harry turns the page in one of Zayn's books that he borrowed ages ago and never gave back. "No," he says.

Zayn lowers his voice, and Harry's stomach fills with dread. "I never told anyone about --" he stops, laying a hand over the pages of the book, trying to get Harry's attention. Harry steels himself to meet Zayn's eyes. "About that being your secret work place." Zayn holds his gaze.

Harry swallows. "I – thank you."

"None of my business," Zayn says in a lighter tone.

"Mm."

Zayn tips his head over onto Harry's shoulder and it hurts. His cheekbones are sharp. "Anyway, what are you reading?" Zayn moves Harry's hand. "Wait. This is my book. I've been looking for this." He sits back up. _This_ is my business!"

*

"I think I'm going to miss this place," Louis says. He's taking down the footie posters from his side of the room, rolling them carefully. 

Harry hmms noncommittally. 

"I'll especially miss you," Louis says, making a silly face over his shoulder. Harry laughs. "See, you can smile. Thought you might have forgotten." 

"I'm fine." 

"Sure," Louis says, turning back to the posters. "I think I'll even miss the food. And going into town, even if it was kind of boring and there was nothing to do there." 

"Yeah," Harry agrees, "going into town was nice."

Louis snorts. "Going to tell me what you did there then?" 

"Nope," Harry says. 

"Well, whatever it was, or whoever she was," Louis says, and Harry's stomach twists, "you should probably go and say goodbye, even if you broke up or whatever happened. You might regret not.” 

*

There are only a few days left and Harry’s adamant about not listening to Louis. If Nick can end things _just like that_ , he doesn’t deserve any sort of goodbye. He obviously didn’t care as much as Harry and that hurt, but it was something he needed to learn. 

Still. He’s leaving in a few days, unlikely to ever return again and maybe, just maybe, he’d like to see Nick again. Nick was right about one thing: It was fun while it lasted. 

*

It's after midnight when Harry sneaks into town. He may be nearly finished, but Headmaster Simon would still give him a detention. 

The door to the shop is unlocked when Harry tries it, but he doesn't go in, not sure if he still has the right. They were never really friends. 

When Nick does answer the door, he's in cotton pajama bottoms and a thin T-shirt with a hole at the neckline. He looks surprised, but not angry, which is all Harry had hoped for. 

"You shouldn't be out this late," he says. 

"I know," says Harry. 

Nick steps out of the way and Harry goes inside. It's dark in the shop, but he's been there enough now that he could navigate it with his eyes closed. 

Nick walks toward the door that leads to his flat upstairs, stopping in the doorway. He runs his fingers through his hair, and doesn't meet Harry's eyes. "Do you want to come up?"

Harry nods, then remembers it's too dark to see. "Yes," he says, and is proud of how steady he keeps his voice.

"Does anyone know you're gone?" Nick asks.

"No,” Harry says, shutting the upstairs door. Nick has a candle burning next to the bed and while it offers hardly any light, Harry can see that Nick still looks the same. His hair droops flatly over his forehead and he looks tired, like Harry woke him. Harry’s stomach lurches and he has to force himself to not reach out and touch. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I know you don’t want me here, but I needed to see you one last time.”

“It’s okay,” Nick says. His hands twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Harry understands that feeling. “I’m glad you came.” 

“Really?” Harry eyes him warily. 

“Of course. I --” Nick runs a hand over his face. “I want to apologize. For that day. I was scared and wasn’t thinking.”

“We were both scared, but you didn't have to send me away. We could have -- we could've --" He stops because he doesn't know what else to say. What could they have done? It was always going to end up like this. 

“I know,” Nick says, and sits down heavily on the edge of the bed. 

Harry looks around. Nick still hasn’t bought a chair for the upstairs, not that Harry thought he would have, so he joins Nick on the bed, close enough he can feel his body heat. 

“I miss you,” Harry says. 

Nick turns his head. He looks sad, but it doesn’t feel nearly as gratifying as Harry had hoped it would. “I miss you, too, Harry.” Nick rests his hand between them, palm up, and Harry stares at it for a moment before lacing their fingers. He doesn’t know why he hesitated at all. 

It’s almost one in the morning, and Harry is leaving this town and everyone in it in a few days. He’s not sure he’ll ever be back and that’s too much to think about when “everyone” includes Nick. Harry wishes he had had these last few weeks with him. 

“Can I stay until morning?” Harry asks before he can talk himself out of it. “We don’t have to do anything, and I’ll leave when the sun comes up.”

Nick frowns. “You deserve so much better than that,” he says, but he’s already scooting back on the bed, tugging Harry with him by their laced fingers. 

Harry kicks off his shoes and slides into the Nick-shaped dip in the center of the bed, rolling onto his hip without much choice. Nick’s arm settles around him, pulling him closer, resting around his waist. Harry’s forehead falls to Nick’s shoulder and he curls in, hands tucked between their chests. It’s so much like before that Harry could pretend if he closes his eyes, so he does. 

“Leaving, huh?” Nick says quietly. 

“Mhm,” Harry says, “home for a bit first, then London for uni.” 

“Oh, you’re going to love London,” Nick says, voice soft and reverent. His thumb rubs over Harry’s hipbone and Harry’s not sure Nick is even aware he’s doing it. 

“I guess.” 

“You know, my friend Gillian still lives there. Henry, too,” Nick says.

“I remember. She sends you postcards. I can send you postcards, too, if you want.”

Nick sighs and it’s a long, long moment before he speaks again. “Or,” he says slowly, “or I could visit her more often.” 

Harry tilts his head back, opening his eyes. “I might see you in London?” 

“Maybe,” Nick says. “If that’s something you might want.” He half-shrugs. “It’s different there.” 

“Yes,” Harry says, already thinking of things they could do, “It is something I want.” They could go places and actually tell people they know each other. They could -- maybe Nick would want to be with him again. Maybe Harry could convince him to move there. "Maybe we could do this again," he says.

Nick kisses the top of his head. "I'd like that."


End file.
